


Through the Eyes of an Elven King

by Frodo_sHeart



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Romance, book!verse (mostly), spoilers for the 3rd movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frodo_sHeart/pseuds/Frodo_sHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil meets a hobbit at the Lonely Mountain and becomes fascinated. Or maybe a little more. But why is The Dwarf behaving even more aggressively than was to be expected? Snippets of Bilbo/Thorin around the Battle of the Five Armies seen through Thranduil's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Eyes of an Elven King

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow Thranduil latched himself onto my brain and wanted to be written. I tossed the idea around a bit and up came a story where through his eyes we see snippets of what is happening between Bilbo and Thorin just before and after the Battle of the Five Armies.  
> The first part is from the book, but not literally true to it. I gave it my own twist. After the battle we go into an alternate universe obviously, where everybody lives. Well, all the main characters that is. A lot of Orcs died.  
> I haven’t really read any Thranduil stories yet, so I have no idea if this has been done before. Let me know what you think!

‘I gave it to them.’ The voice was soft and trembling. Thranduil saw a small face surrounded by light-brown curls looking over the wall. The Dwarf, Thranduil couldn’t find it in himself to call him ‘king’, turned around, stared at the being behind the wall and then strode up to it. With his strong hands, The Dwarf grabbed the person and lifted him on the top of the wall where he was standing.

‘You!’ he yelled, ‘You stole my Arkenstone? You miserable hobbit, you good for nothing burglar! You betray me?’ He shook the small being, that looked rather like a human child, except for its large furry feet. It looked absolutely horrified. Thranduil lifted one eyebrow. Dwarves were so tiresomely violent.

‘If Gandalf were here,’ Thorin continued yelling, ‘I would curse his beard and his arse for choosing you as our burglar. And as for you, I will throw you to the rocks!’ But before the Dwarf could execute his threat, the old man that had held the Arkenstone up for all to see, threw off his hood and said:

‘He is here, Thorin Oakenshield. And I would appreciate it if you did not harm my burglar, however much you seem to dislike him at the moment.’  
The Dwarf seemed dumbstruck at the sight of the wizard, though his eyes were still blazing.  
‘And,’ continued Gandalf, ‘I would advise you to hear what he has to say. Bilbo?’

Bilbo, as was apparently his name, straightened up as The Dwarf reluctantly let go of him. He looked at Thorin with eyes that shone with a host of emotions. It wasn’t just fear, he saw anger there, regret, guilt, but also something else he couldn’t name.

‘Don’t you see, Thorin?’ The hobbit’s voice sounded pleading. ‘I did this to help us. You aren’t thinking straight. How can you go to war with them when you need all the allies you can find?’ Thranduil looked at the hobbit more closely. He looked very scruffy, clothes dirty, torn and even scorched, yet there seemed to be a strenght at the core of him.  


The Dwarf growled.  


‘You betrayed me, you stole the Arkenstone and handed it to our enemies, how is that helping us?’  


‘They aren’t your enemies, Thorin.’

Thranduil found himself wondering exactly what sort of relationship the hobbit had with The Dwarf and his vagabond troupe. They seemed to be on a first-name basis, which surprised him, knowing Thorin Oakenshield and his ancestors. ‘Burglar’ he had called him. Whatever could that mean?

‘And although I realise you probably didn’t mean it like this, I have really only taken my share. I have chosen the Arkenstone, and did with it as I saw fit.’  


The little hobbit stuck out his jaw and looked at The Dwarf with a steady gaze now. Thranduil couldn’t help feeling some admiration for the small being, who hardly wavered under the blazing blue eyes of The Dwarf, quite a bit taller than him, much heavier and stronger, and clearly still very angry. He saw the big fists clenching to his side, as if he ached to grab the hobbit again.

After a silence, however, Thorin turned to Bard.  


‘Very well,’ he said, voice low with emotion. ‘You have guessed correctly that I would not want to part with our heritage. You will receive a 14th part of the treasure for the Arkenstone and that will be the end of it. As for you,’ he turned to the hobbit aggressively. ‘I do not want to see you ever again, you betrayed my trust and my...’ To Thranduil’s surprise, the Dwarf’s voice faltered for a moment.  


‘You betrayed us and you will never be welcome in Erebor again. Be gone with you!’ With remarkable restraint The Dwarf picked up the hobbit again without hurting him, and lowered him from the wall, so Gandalf could take him. The look Thorin sent after the hobbit was so intense that it was almost painful to see. The hobbit just looked down to his feet.

‘Your majesty!’ Both Thranduil and Thorin looked at the Elf running towards them. Of course he was addressing him, not The Dwarf. Thranduil looked at the messenger.  


‘An army of Orcs is approaching,’ the Elf said breathlessly. ‘They are being led by Bolg, son of Azog.’

%%%%%%%%%%

Thranduil looked down on the still form of the unconscious hobbit. His wounds were not as serious as he had first thought, none of them were life threatening, though he had a deep gash on his right leg. Much of the blood on him seemed to have been of Orcs. The large dagger he used as a sword lay on one of the chairs next to the bed. The King picked it up. It was of Elven make of course, and of good quality. It was clean now, but when the hobbit was found, it had been covered in blood and apparently had been put to good use during the battle. Deep in thought, Thranduil stroked the shiny blade. The dwarf who had cleaned it, Thranduil did not know his name, he wore strange rough sweaters made from wool, had done a good job. The blade looked good as new. He put the dagger down again, returning his gaze to the hobbit.

He had been found near The Dwarf. The King. He sighed. Unfortunately he would have to start calling him King, now that they were allies in deed. Why would the hobbit be close to the Dwarven King when he was so angrily banished from Erebor? There were a great many dead Orcs at the site where Thorin, his two kinsmen and the hobbit had been found. Thranduil had been to the spot, to satisfy a curiosity that had risen in him. He found that many of the Orcs bore evidence of a small sword having been stuck into them. How was this possible? He gazed at the hobbit again. His face was pale, the hair still sticky of sweat and blood, but at least he looked calm.

Thranduil brushed over the hobbit’s forehead with his long slender fingers. There seemed to be no fever now. Just when he turned away, ready to leave, the hobbit stirred. He slowly opened his eyes, shutting them again when the relative lightness of the tent hit him.  
Thranduil found himself touching the hobbit’s arm.

‘You are alright, Bilbo,’ he said, tasting the name he had not pronounced before. The hobbit opened his eyes wide now.  


‘What...?’ He stared at Thranduil. ‘King Thranduil? Where am I?’ He looked about him. Suddenly he tensed and his eyes became huge. Thranduil thought he was going to panic.  


‘Thorin? Where is Thorin? Is he alive?’ The hobbit was pushing the blankets away, trying to get up. ‘Fili? Kili? Are they alright?’  


Thranduil looked at him in surprise. With two fingers he pushed Bilbo back into the bed.  


‘You are not to get up yet,’ he said. ‘Most of your wounds are not too serious, but you have to stay in bed for now.’ He frowned at the hobbit.  
‘Why would you enquire after the King of the Dwarves? He made it very clear you are no longer any concern of his.’  


The sudden look of incredible sadness on Bilbo’s face did something strange to Thranduils stomach.  


‘They will live, though they are seriously wounded,’ he heard himself telling the hobbit. The deep relief in the hobbit’s eyes puzzled him.  
‘Why are you so concerned?’ he asked.  


‘They are my friends,’ Bilbo said. ‘I care about them.’ He leaned backwards and closed his eyes. A tear slid from under his eyelid, and Thranduil couldn’t help staring as it slowly rolled down the hobbit’s cheek. The workings of this little being eluded him completely.

%%%%%%%%%%

It felt strange, and the looks they received were also strange. A tall slender Elven King supporting a small hobbit, walking through the encampment.  


‘There is the Royal tent,’ Thranduil pointed out, uncessesarily he was sure, since the flags with the crest of Durin left little to guess. The hobbit nodded, clenching his teeth. His leg must be bothering him more than he let on. They halted before the two Dwarfs who were guarding the entrance.

‘Bilbo,’ said one of them, a tall, gruff looking Dwarf with multiple tattoos on his bald head.  


‘Hello Dwalin,’ said the hobbit, sounding tired yet friendly. ‘It is good to see you.’ The Dwarf warrier grinned.  


‘You too,’ he said. He cast a weary look at Thranduil.  


‘Do you need to be here?’ he asked. Really, Dwarves were so uncivilised.

‘I am Master Baggins’ physician,’ Thranduil said coolly. ‘And since he is not at all healed, I will stay with him to make sure he is alright, and to take him back to his tent when needed.’  


The hobbit made a hand gesture.  


‘It’s ok, Dwalin,’ he said. ‘Never mind him.’ Thranduils eyes opened wide. It was a positively rude remark, he had not expected that. The hobbit had never been anything but polite with him this past week, even though he sensed a certain aloofness. The aloofness had started to grate on him a little, though he had no idea why it would interest him in the least.  


Bilbo sighed.  


‘Sorry, your majesty,’ he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like that. I very much appreciate all that you are doing for me.’ He looked Thranduil in straight in the face now. His eyes were friendly, yet also apprehensive, though that probably had nothing to do with Thranduil. ‘I really do.’ For a moment his small hand lingered on the Elf’s forearm. Then he looked at Dwalin again.  


‘May we go in?’ he asked, subdued. The dwarf opened the entrance and waved them in.  


‘He has been asking for you for days,’ he said quietly when they went past him, probably intending for only Bilbo to hear it. Again Thranduil wondered about the hobbit’s place in Thorin Oakenshield’s Company.

There were three beds in the large tent. Two of them were empty, on the third one sat Thorin, King under the Mountain, although not yet officially crowned. When he saw the hobbit, something happened to his face. There was no smile, but it seemed to light up, only to freeze into a blank mask the next moment.  
While Thranduil hovered near the entrance, Bilbo walked to the bed, eyes fixed on The Dwarf. The King. But when he arrived there, he bowed his head. Then he did something unexpected. He fell on his knees, with a grunt. Thranduil sped forward, thinking of his leg injury, but stopped and retreated when the hobbit started to speak.

‘I am so sorry for everything, Thorin,’ he heard him say, speaking quietly. ‘So very sorry that I betrayed you, even though I didn’t mean to.’ The Dwarf held up an arm, heavily bandaged.  


‘Please, no, it is I who should apologize,’ he said in his deep voice, barely audible to Thranduil. He looked at the hobbit with another intense stare, different now though than when he banished him. ‘I understand now, I understand what you meant.’

Thranduil couldn’t see Bilbo’s face, but he saw that he looked up. Thorin cast a glance in Thranduil’s direction. So he had noticed him, even though he had not acknowledged his presence. Then he leaned toward the hobbit and spoke to him even more quietly. Thranduil strained his hearing, but he caught only fragments.  
‘...right. You have been my friend, while I.... shame me.’

Suddenly the dwarf raised his voice, worried:  


‘Bilbo, what is the matter?’

The hobbit swayed to the right, the side of his injured leg. Thorin reached out, grabbing Bilbo’s shoulder to steady him, at the same moment that Thranduil reached him. Without hesitation he gripped Bilbo under his arms and hoisted him up. He set him on the chair near the bed, kneeling beside him to check the bandage on his leg. Blood was beginning to seep through.  


‘Is he alright?’ asked Thorin.  


‘No, he is not,’ snapped Thranduil, feeling unreasonably irritated. He looked at the dwarf.  


‘Letting him kneel indeed.’  


Guilt, then anger flashed over the bearded face.  


‘I did not tell him...’ Thorin began.  


‘You allowed it,’ said Thranduil curtly.  


‘So did you!’ cried the dwarf.

Bilbo was leaning backwards, eyes closed, his face white, but calmer than before they had entered the tent. Thranduil stood up and scooped the hobbit in his arms.  


‘Hey!’ protested Bilbo, opening weary eyes.  


‘You need to go back to your bed now,’ said Thranduil. ‘And I need to change the bandages.’ He started to walk towards the entrance.  


‘Elf!’ bellowed Thorin. Thranduil halted to look back. The hobbit was trying to wriggle free.  


‘Dwarf,’ said Thranduil coldly.  


For a short while their eyes met in a silent struggle Thranduil did not completely understand. Suddenly Bilbo gave up.  


‘He is right,’ the hobbit said, looking at Thorin. ‘I need to rest now. But I do want to walk.’ He glanced at Thranduil now.  


‘No,’ said the Elf. ‘I will carry you.’  


‘I am not a child!’  


‘No, you are an injured hobbit,’ said Thranduil calmly.  


Bilbo started to protest again.  


‘Stop it, Bilbo,’ said Thranduil sternly. He was still looking at the Dwarven king, who was scowling at him, and to his surprise the piercing blue eyes suddenly spat fire. Thorin took deep breaths.  


‘You better make sure you heal him completely,’ he growled eventually.  


‘Of course I will.’ Thranduil raised a dark eyebrow. ‘As I promised Gandalf.’

He sat Bilbo down on the bed and proceeded to remove the bandages. As he had feared the wound had partially opened again and was bleeding. With a sigh he began to clean it.  


‘Why did you kneel before The Dwarf?’ he asked. ‘You owe him no allegiance, he is not your king.’  


The hobbit gasped when Thranduil touched the wound. He closed his eyes again, leaning into the pillows.  


‘I was part of his Company, I was his friend, and I betrayed him. Kneeling and asking his forgiveness was ... what I wanted to do.’  


Thranduil looked at the small being, again wondering what on earth had brought him to leave his home in the Shire and take up with the king without a kingdom on a quest that no one would have thought had any chance of succeeding.

‘Why?’  


Bilbo opened his eyes. They were a blueish shade of grey. Why would he even notice this?  


‘Why what?’  


‘Why did you go with them?’  


‘Because they asked me to, and because they did not have a home.’  


Thranduil frowned. He started to bandage the wound anew.  


‘You went with them because they did not have a home.’ He had meant it as a statement, but it came out more of a question.  


Bilbo nodded.  


‘I thought I’d help them reclaim it.’ He sighed. ‘Of course I did not anticipate all the trouble we met along the way. Although the dragon was mentioned before we left.’ He chuckled. ‘Incineration indeed. Almost succeeded there, Smaug did.’

Thranduil looked at the hobbit in astonishment. How could he laugh about being almost burned to cinders by a Fire Dragon? Was Bilbo a madman or courageous beyond expectation?  
He caught the hobbit’s inquisitive look. Had he betrayed his thoughts?

‘Do you think me strange, King Thranduil?’  


He fastened the bandage and pulled the blanket over Bilbo’s legs.  


‘You are not what I had expected from a Shireling,’ he said carefully. Bilbo’s eyes narrowed.  


‘Well, I don’t suppose you had ever met a hobbit before, had you?’ he said, with a hint of steel in his voice. ‘So how would you know what to expect? Sitting in your cave in your forest, being unwelcoming to travellers.’

For a moment his words hung in the air. Thranduil thought he now understood the aloofness beneath the hobbit’s polite exterior.  


‘You freed them, did you not?’ It was hardly a question.  


‘Of course I did,’ said the hobbit. He stared at the Elf with a frown on his forehead. ‘You were really unkind, you know? We had done nothing to you, we only came to ask for food because we were starving. And you threw them all in prison, all alone, especially Thorin.’ He raised his voice at those last two words. His eyes were accusing now, angry. ‘In the dark, alone, for weeks. How long would they have lasted, if not for me?’  


‘They were treated fairly and fed well,’ Thranduil said, feeling that his words were somehow inadequate.  


‘Fairly!’ The hobbit huffed. Then he exhaled and sagged back into the pillows.  


‘But we should not talk about this now that we are allies,’ he said. ‘You have helped us. The dwarves. And you are healing me, even though you are only doing that because Gandalf asked you to.’  


Thranduil wanted to say that that wasn’t true, but it was. At least at first.  


‘I will sleep now,’ said Bilbo, and he closed his eyes. The Elf stared at him for a while, trying to come to terms with how much he was fascinated by this little Shireling.

%%%%%%%%%%

‘I am sorry, your majesty,’ said the Elf guarding Bilbo’s tent. ‘Master Baggins is not here.’  


Thranduil frowned. The hobbit was doing a lot better now, but he still didn’t like him walking around the encampment on his own. And he had planned to check and redress the wound now.  


‘Where is he?’ he asked.  


‘Two dwarves came to pick him up,’ answered the Elf. ‘The heir of their king and his brother.’  


Thranduil walked away with long strides. He knew where to find him then. In the Dwarf’s tent. Again.

‘Out of my way’ he snarled to the guards and pushed past them. He managed to get inside before they grabbed him and knocked him to his knees, a big axe resting on his neck.  


When he looked up, he saw four surprised faces look at him. Surprise quickly turned to anger on two of those faces and something akin to rage on a third. Bilbo was the only one who stayed simply surprised. The bulky form of Thorin Oakenshield managed to reach the Elf in three steps, despite still limping badly. A strong hand closed around Thranduil’s throat and blazing blue eyes bored into his.

‘How dare you!’ the dwarf roared. ‘You may be ally, you may be king, but you do not barge into my tent without invitation!’  


Thranduil’s eyes flitted around, regretting his rash action enormously. What had come over him? His eyes came to rest on the hobbit, whose face was flushed and frowning now.  


‘Bilbo?’ he managed to croak, hoping that the hobbit would manage to convince Thorin to let him go. But Bilbo seemed lost for words. Instead, Thorin shook the Elf.  


‘That would be Master Baggins to you!’ he bellowed. It became increasingly difficult to breathe. Unexpectedly, it was the heir who spoke up.

‘Better not kill him, uncle Thorin,’ Fili said tentatively. ‘It would do our alliance no favours.’ Thorin released his grip just enough to let Thranduil gasp for air, but he did not let him go. His face was still distorted with anger and he growled like a caged animal.  


‘You have no right to be here!’ he bellowed. ‘What is to stop me from killing you here and now? What do I care about this alliance?’

Suddenly a small hand touched the Dwarf’s arm and stayed there.  


‘Let him go now, Thorin,’ said the hobbit. ‘Please, givashel?’ Thranduil heard the guard behind him gasp. Then the grip on his throat was slowly released, and finally the hand pushed him backwards, so he had to steady himself not to fall. He felt thoroughly humiliated.

Thorin was breathing heavily, the hobbit’s hand still on his arm.  


‘The alliance is important, Thorin, you know that. Even if you have every right to be angry.’ Bilbo cast a reproachful look at Thranduil. Something odd about him struck the Elf. Was the hobbit wearing braids now? Then he realised Bilbo was speaking to him.  


‘I will no longer require your help, king Thranduil,’ Bilbo said earnestly. ‘My wounds have healed up nicely. I thank you for everything you have done. I will ask for my belongings to be brought to the Dwarven encampment as soon as possible.’

Thorin seemed to relax a little. He looked at Thranduil angrily, but no longer raging.  


‘You will be compensated for your efforts,’ he said haughtily. ‘But you are not welcome here, so go now. Go to your own camp.’  


Thranduil stood up, still not able to speak, feeling embarrassed and actually ashamed of himself, which was a rather new experience. He tried to compose himself and managed to put on his usual inscrutable facial expression.

‘I understand,’ he said, still hoarse from being half-strangled. ‘I ...’ he hesitated, but looking at Bilbo he did say it: ‘I apologize.’ Then he turned around and left the tent, ignoring the dwarves who had gathered outside after hearing their King shout.

%%%%%%%%%%

 

Thranduil looked at the encampment. Flickering fires had been lit, the smell of cooking drifted up to the rock not far from the entrance of Erebor where he was sitting against the side of the mountain. Men and Dwarves were actually sharing food, now that they had been working together on clearing the rubble from the halls for weeks. He was not sure why he was still here. Most of his Elves had gone back to the forest already. He himself would leave in the morning. There was nothing more for them to do here. Alliances had been forged, temporary agreements drawn up. And in a few weeks they would visit for the Coronation of King Thorin.

Thranduil sighed and let his head rest in his hands. He had not seen the hobbit in 10 days, ever since that shameful incident in the Royal Tent. He wondered how he was doing. Would he be going home to his Shire soon? It saddened him that he would have no opportunity to talk to him now. To try to understand him. He had heard more about his role in the whole quest for Erebor. Hired as a burglar, his task to go down to Smaug first. Thranduil did not understand how such a small being would be brave enough to do something like that. Or to fight a hoard of Orcs with nothing but a dagger. There seemed to be nothing heroic about him at first sight. Small, curly-haired, bare-footed, big-eyed. Where did he fit in this whole epic adventure?

‘I think it will take only one week more before we can start to house a reasonable number of Dwarves in the mountain,’ he suddenly heard a well-known voice say. Thranduil looked up. Two people had emerged from the make-shift doors that currently made up the mountain’s main entrance. One of them was smaller than the other. They stood at least 10 meters away from him and he was sure they had not noticed his presence. He sat perfectly still, breathing very quietly. He could see their silhouettes against the rapidly darkening sky.

‘I don’t mind staying in my tent for now,’ said the hobbit’s voice.  


‘Well, I do, givashel,’ answered Thorin. That word again. Thranduil wondered what it meant.  


‘I would be very happy to have some... privacy,’ the dwarf said. He moved closer to the hobbit. ‘Wouldn’t you?’  


Thranduil heard Bilbo chuckle. Slowly, understanding dawned in his mind. And yes, the dwarf was standing very close behind the hobbit now, and then he folded his arms around him.  


‘Well, if you put it like that,’ said Bilbo. He leaned back into Thorin with a contented sigh. ‘It has been rather a long time.’  


Thorin laughed, snuggling his face into the hobbit’s hair.  


‘So it has,’ he said quietly. They stood in silence for a few minutes, looking down at the bustle in the camp.

‘Thorin?’ said Bilbo.  


‘Hmm.’ The dwarf seemed busy placing kisses on the brown curls.  


‘Are you sure they will accept me?’  


‘Of course they will. Songs are being sung about you, haven’t you heard? Brave Master Baggins of the Shire taking on Smaug the Fire Dragon.’  


‘That is not exactly the same though, being a minor hero, or ...’  


‘Or the King-Consort?’ Thorin turned the hobbit around in his arms and looked at him. ‘They will have to accept, and I am sure they will. You will stand beside me at the Coronation, when I will announce it. Everything will be fine.’  


The hobbit reached out and touched the Dwarf’s face in a loving manner. Then their silhouettes, set out against the dark blue sky, merged into a long kiss.  


‘I am sure it will,’ said Bilbo when they finally let go of each other. ‘Come, let’s go eat something, or the others will have gobbled it all up.’ Thorin laughed, and he went down the mountain with his hobbit.

Thranduil followed them with his eyes. An unexpected quiet little sadness rose in his heart seeing them walking so close together. Then he breathed deeply, rose and straightened his back. He had a forest kingdom to run.

**Author's Note:**

> Givashel: treasure of treasures


End file.
